Shot To Hell
by ceilidh65
Summary: An alternative version of the events in Dog Tags. Tim McGee's day started badly enough with that dog bite. It's about to get a lot worse. As always, I hope you enjoy, please R&R if you do!
1. Chapter 1 Fire And Ice

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Hello again, all, and welcome to my latest 'missing scene' story for season five's Dog Tags. This one, though, has a bit of a twist, in that it's also an _alternative_ re-write for most of the episode.

I love Abby, I really do, but her attitude towards Tim, and the way she treats him, just really annoyed me. And since I was badly bitten by a dog, too, when I was little, my sympathies are entirely with McGee!

So just using Jethro's attack on him, Abby's reaction, and Tony's 'little surprise' for him from the episode itself, this is my idea on what _might_ have happened to Tim if that attack had led to something more serious

I've done as much research as I can into what happens to our favourite probie, but I'm not a doctor (oops, already given away the whumping bit!) so I apologise in advance for anything that isn't completely accurate.

Of course, there's angst for Abby too, and Tony – but the real suffering, I'm afraid, is for our poor favourite probie. So with that, on with the Timmy-whump!

As always, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One - Fire And Ice

It was getting worse. For the last hour, the dull ache in his arm had flared back into excruciating pain. And however much he'd tried to ignore it, Tim McGee knew he couldn't avoid the inevitable any longer. However lousy he felt – and right now, he felt like hell itself – Tim knew he needed to find its cause.

He _could_ go back to the Infirmary, of course, but – no, he doubted his legs could carry him that far.

Legs that could effortlessly cope with a five mile run currently had all the strength of melting jelly – more tremors moving through them now, triggering more waves of nausea, as Tim rose from his chair.

Dazedly shaking his head to clear it, McGee then groaned as his vision stubbornly refused to re-focus. Damn it, he shouldn't have stood up so fast, and – jeez, that wobbling elevator was a _long_ way away. It was going to be a real challenge to reach it without ralphing, let alone make it down to Ducky's lab.

Even without the spasms of worsening pain in his arm, though, Tim knew he didn't have any choice. Every part of his aching, sweat-soaked body was telling him something inside it was seriously wrong. One minute he felt like an erupting volcano, the next he was shivering as if he were stuck in a blizzard.

The scientist in him had already guessed the two likeliest causes for these switch-backing symptoms. It was probably an infection, or some adverse side-effect to the mass of shots he'd been given, and – oh, sweet hallelujah, he'd actually reached the elevator without making a complete idiot of himself.

As the doors dinged shut behind him, Tim leaned against its blessedly cool panels, panting in pure relief. He felt like he'd run a marathon, but he'd made it. Thank God. At least now he could pass out in privacy

No sooner had he brought his breathing back under control, though, than the doors dinged open again – the sheer irony of it lifting Tim's mouth into a humourless smile as he wall-walked towards Autopsy.

He felt like death warmed over, and he was relying on a coroner to find out why. Yeah, _that_ was ironic

Maybe that was why he was so strongly tempted now, to just turn around and head back to the bullpen. However deeply he respected Ducky's medical opinion, he really _didn_'_t_ want to do this.

He really didn't want to have their ME unwrap this mass of bandage on his arm, because that – well, it would hurt like hell for a start, but it would also expose the nauseating wounds beneath.

It would also bring back the nightmare of bared teeth, and fetid breath, and that mind-splitting pain. Dear God, that pain had literally ripped him apart.

Swallowing hard, Tim closed his eyes for a moment, trying to force those images out of his mind. Opening them would take too much effort, so he didn't even try. Instead, he tried to control his breathing

God, it sounded awful – already ragged again, unnaturally laboured. Then again, he felt awful, _period_.

Right now, all he wanted to do was curl up alone in his misery, tell this lousy world to go to hell, and –

– oh, _crap_.

Moving gingerly through Autopsy's doorway, leaning for support against its frame, Tim visibly flinched. Just when he thought this pig of a day couldn't possibly get worse for him – yeah, it could. Big time.

Instead of Ducky's cheering smile, he now faced the last person in the world that he wanted to see.

Abby.

Normally, she'd make his heart flip in pure joy. But now it clenched, painfully, in bitter disappointment. Her face was still set in a sulking frown. And the eyes he loved still glared at him, in unforgiving fury.

If he were to go anywhere near her now – no, Tim sourly concluded, that would _not_ be a good idea. He didn't have the strength to tackle a lettuce leaf right now, let alone this soul-destroying anger. And he certainly didn't want any more reminders that she cared more for a damn dog than she did for him

So even as Ducky offered him a quizzical smile, Tim found himself moving shakily away from it – stammering out a nervous apology in a voice which, to his further dismay, sounded alarmingly faint.

"I'm – I'm sorry, Ducky, I - um, didn't realize you were busy, I'll, um… I'll – I'll come back later-"

From that, and the unhealthy sheen on Tim's face, Ducky's smile faded into a frown of doctorly concern. The boy didn't look well. He didn't look well at all.

"Are you sure, Timothy? If that arm's still bothering you, I should really take a look at it."

Every fibre in his being was telling McGee to swallow his pride, and his pain, and take Ducky's advice.

Instead, so aware of Abby's glaring eyes upon him, but not daring to meet them, Tim shook his head – all strength to speak deserting him now, as he sought the closest escape from their fury that he could find

Watching the elevator doors close behind him, Ducky sighed, shaking his head in his own frustration – the voice of legendary calm holding a distinct edge to it now, as he turned back towards Abby.

"Well now, Abigail, I rather think that you and I need to have a _serious_ chat," he said at last – putting the tone he used on his mother's corgis to perfect effect as he nodded towards a nearby stool.

"Now, _sit._"


	2. Chapter 2 Desperate Measures

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Thanks so much for the reviews – hm, from most of them, it looks like I'm not the only one who thought Abby gave Tim an unjustly hard time!

In the episode, of course, nothing was really said or done about it, although Gibbs and Ducky came pretty close! So following on from the end of chapter one, Ducky gives Abby that serious chat you _didn't_ get to see.

As always, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Two - Desperate Measures

For a full minute now, an irresistible force had met an equally immoveable object in silent impasse. And as Ducky had dryly observed, this was probably the longest he'd ever known Abby Sciuto to be so quiet.

Its cause, though – no, there was nothing funny, at all, in why she now sat in such a seething sulk.

She was hurting, and poor Timothy was _certainly_ hurting, too, from this rift between them, and – oh, for heaven's sake, all this pain it was causing was so pointless, so completely _unnecessary_!

There was such a special connection, such a precious bond, between these two, amazing young people. For that bond to be threatened now, over something so senseless… no, Ducky couldn't stand for that. And if Abby kept up this stubborn refusal to talk about it, then – well, she'd just have to listen instead.

"Really, Abigail, I cannot understand why you're still so angry with him," he said at last – his next words equally quiet, but still firm enough, holding enough stern authority, to make his point

"You must have seen from his reaction just now that Timothy can't understand it either. He's _hurting_, Abby, quite dreadfully. And quite frankly, he's suffered more than enough already, without you making him feel worse."

As he'd expected, and silently hoped, just this short statement prompted a now well-worn protest – the catch in Abby's voice betraying her own concession that it was becoming an increasingly shaky excuse

"But Ducky, he – he shot Jethro!"

"In self defence, Abby! As I'm sure Timothy has told you himself," Ducky retorted just as firmly – drawing on every part of his legendary patience as Abby's face stayed set in a stubborn frown.

The kindly uncle approach wasn't working, so – well, he'd just have to resort to cold, hard facts instead.

"Abby, come here," he added softly, leading her to the rows of cadaver lockers behind them.

Pulling one of the drawers open, he then drew back the sheet, revealing the hideously mutilated body beneath – hating himself for the pain he was about to cause her, but knowing he had to make her see sense.

"When Jethro attacked him, he followed the same bite-pattern he'd used on poor young Hansen here. He would have pinned him first, using his weight, and his paw on Timothy's neck, to subdue him.

Then, as Timothy tried to instinctively defend himself, he took the first bite-grip, deep into his arm. And as one who's suffered his share of dog-bites too, the pain from it would have been _excruciating_."

Pausing to let those quiet words sink in, Ducky re-met Abby's eyes with fatherly compassion in his own. Beyond that, though, was pure determination - carrying through into what he said next.

"Now, look at Petty Officer Hansen's injuries. _All_ of them, Abigail. Tell me what you see."

Already guessing where this was heading, Abby fretted and fidgeted beside him, then finally gave in – her voice softening, losing its anger, as the point Ducky was trying to make became horrifically clear.

"There's… um… well, uh, wounds to his forearm. Deep bite wounds, almost down to the bone-"

Those injuries were awful enough, and she shuddered to think of the terrible pain they'd inflicted – especially when she remembered that her sweet, precious Timmy had suffered it too.

But it was the injury which had led to Kyle Hansen's death which now caused her to start shaking.

Before she'd laid so scathingly into him, she'd been horrified by the amount of blood on Tim's collar – appalled by the pain she'd seen in his eyes while she anxiously studied the deep claw marks on his neck.

Now, staring down at the bloodied remains of Kyle Hansen's neck, Abby felt _her_ blood drain from her face – Ducky's quiet voice as much a comfort to her as it was a blade into a mercilessly nagging conscience.

"Yes, Abby. _Now_ you know why Timothy had to take such drastic action to stop Jethro's attack on him. If he'd continued to struggle, as he would instinctively do, to escape, or to try and defend himself… well, I'm afraid Jethro's instincts would have reverted to those of his kill-or-be-killed ancestors. And you can see from how his own handler bled to death what _could_ have happened to Timothy next-"

A muffled sob told him that she was finally getting the message, but Ducky still pressed gently on – his next words softer as he slipped an arm around her shoulders, ready for the hug he knew she'd need.

"And you know him well enough too, or at least you _should_, to know how seriously Timothy takes his job. He would _never_ fire his weapon, against human _or_ animal, unless his life was under serious threat.

And it _was_ in danger, Abby. This was no over-used cliché, Timothy really _was_ fighting for his life. He was being mauled by a dog who'd already turned on, _and_ most likely killed, its own trusted handler. So yes, he shot Jethro, but… Abby, he _had_ to. His life was in danger. Timothy _had_ to defend himself."

As Abby nodded and turned, crying helplessly now, onto his shoulder, Ducky then smiled.

"There, now" he said at last, patting her back while still gently advising her, as only he ever could. "And you know I'll _never_ turn down a hug from you, Abigail, but might I make a suggestion here? When you've finished with me, you go and give poor Timothy the biggest cuddle _he_'_s_ ever had too?"

Watching tangled pigtails bob in vigorous agreement, Ducky felt his smile widen in fond relief.

He knew that Abby, bless her doting heart, would follow his advice to the faithful letter, and – yes, like all life's soulmates, she and young Timothy would soon put this wee lovers' tiff behind them, and forget this whole sorry affair.


	3. Chapter 3 Point Of No Return

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Oooh, more lovely reviews! Thanks so much!

There's just a quick reference to Dead Man Walking here (well, more a certain piece of clothing from it) and also the 'plasma screen' scene from the episode itself, just to give Tony something to feel guilty about too. Well, it was a really mean thing to do - and you've got to spread the angst around a bit, right? ;o)

Okay, I promised you whumpage for poor Timmy, and all sorts of guilt-angst for Tony and Abby – and it starts here. So for all you sadists out there – enjoy!

Chapter Three – Point Of No Return

He'd forgiven her for countless things in the past, including breaking off their relationship, but _this_? Turning on him like that? Denying she even _knew_ him? Putting a damn _dog_'_s_ welfare over his, and using _his_ jacket to comfort it?

Scowling even more at that last part, Tim McGee then glared down at its thankfully undamaged, fur-free replacement. This wasn't the first jacket she'd ruined, of course. She'd wrecked his treasured Armani, too.

And yes, as he'd done then, he knew he could easily afford another to replace it, but – damn it, _no_! That wasn't the point, and… no, he was _sick_ of this, he _wasn_'_t _going to keep making excuses for her.

When he'd needed her comfort, Abby had turned on him, as viciously as that damn dog had done, and – no, whatever his stupidly lovestruck heart had ignored before, this was just too much for it to take.

She'd hurt him too deeply this time, and – no, he couldn't, he just _couldn_'_t_, forgive her for that. Yet again, she'd broken his heart, and… damn it, no wonder it was hammering clear out of his chest.

And yes, he knew they still had to work together, but – no, he really couldn't think about that right now. At the moment, it was taking all his strength, all his concentration, to walk out of the elevator – his shakily weaving progress to his desk causing Ziva to call after him in puzzled concern.

"Are you alright, McGee?"

"_Fine,_" Tim snapped back at her, for once uncaring to the Mossad agent's justly feared reputation. If she chose to kill him right now, just to put him out of his misery, he really wouldn't be sorry.

Instead, still oblivious to her genuine concern, he clicked his desktop's link to the main plasma screen – recoiling, in pure terror, as three massive Dobermans seemed to leap out of it, homing in on his throat. On a rush of adrenalin, a heart-rate that was already dangerously high now surged into triple figures. The room swam crazily around him.

And the sick, sadistic genius who'd arranged this little 'surprise' for him?' Hell, who else?

"Oh yeah, DiNozzo, _real_ funny!" Tim finally managed, his voice shaking with both fear and anger – turning to glare at his tormentor, with such fury in his eyes that Tony's smirk faded in real dismay.

He'd gone too far this time – and Tim McGee's unnaturally coarse, deadly soft words confirmed it.

"Yeah, when some coked-up mutt uses _you_ for its chew toy, I hope it goes for your damn _throat_!"

Everyone in the bullpen, not just Tony and Ziva, were staring at him now, stunned by his outburst. Tim McGee's sweet-natured calmness was legendary, so to see him lose it like this, so completely – hell, no wonder no-one in that room, not even Tony DiNozzo, knew how to handle it.

It was going to take a cool head to defuse the next eruption of a still dangerously simmering temper. In Jethro Gibbs' absence, that task eventually fell, with equal improbability, to a volatile Israeli assassin

"Tony, take a walk. A _long_ one."

For once not daring to argue, or even breathe too loudly, Tony nodded and moved towards the elevator – something he couldn't place, something more than his conscience, prompting him to glance back again.

As he'd expected, Tim was now slumped in his chair, oblivious to the murmurs of worry around him. He was shaking, his face hidden behind equally jerky hands.

Tony couldn't hear what Ziva was saying to him as she sat, unthreateningly, on the edge of Tim's desk. But he could see the worry on her face turn to real alarm as she rested a hand on his forehead – the question which inevitably followed met with more, inexplicable fury as Tim pushed it away.

If he'd tried that stunt on her in normal time, she'd have tossed him clear across his desk, but now – no, Tony realized, running instinctively now towards them, there was absolutely _nothing_ normal about this.

There was no reason in the world for Tim McGee to now rise, in such petulant rage, from his chair.

And there was no reason either, just pure and real alarm, for him to then crash back down beside it – oblivious to two desperate yells of his name as DiNozzo reached him, fractionally too late, to break his fall

"McGee!"

For the second time in as many minutes, the bullpen stared in silence, stunned at what they'd just seen. This time, though, Jethro Gibbs walked into it – his eyes instantly sizing up a scene of unnatural, rising panic.

Cradled in Tony's lap, Tim McGee lay beside his desk, violently shaking in his best friend's arms. And for once, there were no flippant wisecracks. His senior agent's eyes, and voice, held genuine fear.

"He – He just went, boss! I tried to get to him, but he – he just went, and - boss, he's burning up."

The whys and wherefores would have to wait. Right now, Tim McGee needed help, and fast.

Luckily, Ziva was already ensuring he'd get it – her voice as worried as Tony's, but still crucially calm.

"I've called an ambulance. Ducky's on his way."

Nodding terse approval, Gibbs strode on to where McGee lay, still shaking helplessly in Tony's arms. Even with his limited medical knowledge, Gibbs knew this was bad. Tim McGee was in serious trouble, and every instinct he had, professional and otherwise, was telling him to do something, _anything_, to help.

But until the experts arrived, until Ducky or one of the EMT's could explain what was happening – no, just like Tony, all he could do was offer Tim McGee comfort they both knew he couldn't hear.

"Easy, Tim. Hang on, McGee… help's coming, Tim, you're gonna be okay, just hang on."


	4. Chapter 4 Descent Into Hell

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Aw, more reviews – thank you!

Okay, this is where the 'medical stuff' comes in. I've researched it as much as I can, but like I said before, I'm not a doctor – just an evil fanfic writer! Seriously, if it's _too_ inaccurate, any advice on the medical stuff would be a great help, so I can work it in and re-submit this chapter.

Thanks as always, and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Four – Descent Into Hell

At her normal, long legged pace, Abby knew there were three hundred and sixty five steps to his desk. But at an all-out, panic fuelled run - damn it, what did it matter? What the hell did she care?

All she cared about right now was reaching her precious Timmy, to be there for him this time, to tell him how sorry she was, and –

– and the expression on Gibbs' face, the urgency in his voice, stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Abby, no! You don't want to see this, just – just stay back."

She couldn't argue, not against that. No-one, not even her, would dare to defy that voice. Instead, Abby stood behind Ziva's desk-screen, helplessly watching Ducky and Jimmy rush past her – the shock on their faces alone, snatches of urgent questions and shaken answers, telling her all she needed to know.

Whatever had caused Tim McGee to collapse, and made Gibbs order her to stay back… yes, it was bad.

"What happened, Jeth-? No, Tony, keep him on his side, we've got to keep his airway clear-"

"I don't know, Duck, he was down when I got here, and - damn it, Ducky, what the hell is it?"

"Anaphylaxis, Jethro. Timothy's suffered a severe allergic reaction, and - adrenalin, Mr Palmer. And oxygen. _Quickly_!"

"I – I was just razzing him, boss… that CD, it – it was just a joke-"

"There was something wrong before that, Tony, he was ill, his movements were… not right-"

"Yes, Ziva, I know, he came down to me earlier, and he was clearly unwell then, but he- well, he… uh-"

Backed into an awkward corner, Ducky then breathed a sigh of relief as its escape route arrived.

For him, for Abby, and for Timothy McGee especially, those EMTs couldn't have timed it better – his quiet run-down as much for Abby's benefit as the paramedics who now set to work beside him.

"I'm Dr Mallard, the ME here. He's gone into anaphylactic shock, possibly from a set of inoculations. He was mauled by a dog earlier today, and those wounds have also re-opened as he's fallen.

Temp's one zero two, still rising. BP's hundred over seventy, heart-rate raised, but holding steady. I've given him adrenalin, and his breathing's certainly easier, but- well, it's still _very_ laboured. He's also been sick, three times now, and… oh, dear, that's, um… four-"

Wincing suitably in response, the senior EMT nodded, glancing expectantly into four anxious faces

"Okay, doctor, we'll take it from here," the senior EMT nodded, glancing expectantly back at him.

"What's his name?"

He was expecting just one, of course. To his surprise, he received three in a quiet, anxious chorus.

"Timothy-"

"T – Timmy-"

"McGee-"

Seeing the paramedic's reaction to this three-way flurry of answers, Gibbs _almost_ smiled too – silently vowing to use it a damn sight more himself now as he added a soft, guiltily awkward fourth

"Tim, he… uh, prefers Tim"

Clearly used to dealing with anxious relatives, if not multi-named casualties, the EMT smiled back – easing at least some of the tension and worry around him as he tried to gently rouse his latest patient.

"Okay, Tim it is. Tim? I'm Jeff, I'm an EMT and- Tim? Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand?"

In anxious silence, everyone in that room was watching, and listening, for some kind of response. All they saw and heard instead was more laboured retching, Tony Dinozzo's stricken wince, and Jeff's voice again – still calm, with the unique skill of his profession, but betraying the disappointment all of them felt.

"Okay, Tim, let's get you more comfortable here. Ben, start another IV. Full bore, wide open-"

From where he knelt, still cradling Tim in his arms, Tony watched the two EMTs work in rare silence – fear, frustration and guilt finally breaking it as McGee continued to shake violently against him.

"Can't you do any more to – to make this stop?"

"Not 'til we know what's causing this reaction, sir. We could make it worse," Jeff explained gently – offering Tony a calm smile which held no resentment, only reassurance, as he nodded to his partner.

"Okay, Ben, we've got him as stable as we're gonna get, let's get him to Bethesda-"

Watching his youngest agent being lifted, so gently, onto a waiting gurney, Gibbs swallowed hard – the worry he always felt for his team, but never showed, openly there now as he turned to Ducky.

"Go with him, Duck, We'll be right behind you"

Dryly certain that Gibbs would get there first, Ducky nodded and followed the EMTs to the elevator – offering Abby a brief smile, what little comfort he could, as Tim's gurney was wheeled gently past her

Except there was no comfort. Instead, Abby stared down at his now silent, lifeless form in complete horror. All she could see around him were wires, and tubes, and -

- oh, dear God, there was one in his throat too! He had an ugly tube taped into his throat. Without it, if that tube wasn't there, to help him breathe, he'd be -

- her precious, irreplaceable Timmy would be -

Abby closed her eyes, as if to keep that unthinkable thought behind them. By the time she opened them again, still helplessly whispering his name, he was gone.

Within minutes, he was on his way – taking the fastest trip to Bethesda that he'd ever experienced. Following them, with practised ease, Gibbs then glanced across at two ashen, shell-shocked faces.

Beside him, and behind him, two unnaturally silent passengers sat stricken by their consciences – all three offering a silent prayer as Tim McGee's ambulance rocketed on towards Bethesda Hospital.


	5. Chapter 5 The Darkest Hour

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Thanks, first of all, to christalsteele, for your PM on medical advice - that's always going to be handy for the next round of Timmy-whump!

There's more medical stuff in this latest chapter, dealing a bit more with the cause for Tim's collapse. Again, I hope it's okay, and more thanks for all the reviews!

Chapter Five - The Darkest Hour

What was it about hospital waiting rooms that made them so damn depressing? Grey walls, back-breaking chairs, undrinkable coffee, and-

damn it, Gibbs _hated_ hospitals. He'd seen enough of them, both as a patient and an anxious visitor, to last him several lifetimes.

For the sake of those who sat with him, though, who were sharing this insufferable wait for news – no, for both of them, and for Abby especially, who sat so tearfully beside him, he had to stay positive.

"He'll be okay, Abs," he said at last, drawing his surrogate daughter into a fatherly reassuring hug. "You know he's in the best place now. And Ducky's with him, so you know he's in good hands."

"I – I know, Gibbs, I _know_ he is," Abby sniffed, trying with all her heart to smile back at him – the weight of her conscience quashing it back into another muffled tumble of guilt-ridden tears.

"But Gibbs, he – he just looked so _sick_! And I was so mean to him, yelling at him, and- and-"

"Hey, if anyone's to blame for this, Abs, it's me," Tony cut in softly, glancing across at her – speaking for the longest time since they'd arrived as his conscience, too, proved too much for him.

"If I hadn't put that dumb CD on the plasma, and made him react like that, and- _damn_ it, what's taking them so long? He's been in there almost an hour now, and not even Ducky's come out to tell us what's happening!"

Right on cue, the waiting room doors slid open. Three pairs of eyes swung instinctively towards them.

Instead of Ducky's familiar face, though, a tired but equally relieved doctor smiled back at them – that simple gesture alone answering their prayers long before he quietly introduced himself.

"Agent Gibbs? I'm Dr Grey, I'm in charge of Agent McGee's care, and- well, first things first.

Tim's had a severe allergic collapse, but he's regained consciousness, and he's responding to treatment. He was rather agitated when he came round, though. That's why I've asked Dr Mallard to stay with him. And he'll be under sedation while we flush out his system, but he was awake when I left to come here.

He was lucid, too, which is always a good sign. He knows who he is, and he also recognized Dr Mallard. I'd like to keep him under observation for a few days, but with plenty of rest, he's going to be fine-"

It was the news they'd waited an unbearable hour to hear. And yes, it was received with open relief. Their consciences forgotten, at least for the moment, Abby and Tony fell into an overjoyed hug.

A true master in body language, though, Jethro Gibbs could sense an unspoken '_but-_' a mile off.

Along with hospital waiting rooms, red tape, and undrinkable coffee, it was something he hated.

"_But_?" he prompted, hoping his voice hadn't sounded as sharp to Dr Grey as it had sounded to him. Yes, Tim McGee was going to be alright, but he was still shaken by what he'd been through, and –

– and what the _hell_? Yeah, there was something _seriously_ wrong with this damn coffee. How else could he explain the unbelievable '_but-_' question which Dr Grey had just put to him?

"-there's no easy way to ask this, Agent Gibbs, but- well, does Agent McGee use drugs?"

If they'd not been so surprised, or so shocked by its implications, that question might have been funny. Tim McGee and a _drugs_ problem?

No wonder Tony DiNozzo jumped in now, with two outraged feet. _No_-_one_ insulted his probie except him. And even that was going through a guilt-stricken rethink.

"Are you _kidding_? We have to crush 'em into his coffee, just to get him to take an aspirin!"

Finding it impossible not to smile at that, Gibbs placed a steadying hand on Tony's shoulder – an ill-timed order of '_down_, _boy,_' kept wisely to himself as he stepped in to save that boy's blushes.

"I'm guessing you found traces of cocaine in his system?"

Smiling slightly at the doctor's reaction, and Tony's wince of realization, Gibbs then winced too – silently kicking himself for an oversight which could so easily have cost Tim McGee his life.

"We just assumed it was some kind of delayed reaction to the shots he'd been given," he said at last – privately grateful that DiNozzo couldn't see it as he mentally gave himself one almighty head-slap.

"But yeah, the dog that mauled Tim was exposed to cocaine. It must have transferred to him in its saliva-"

"Yes, that would certainly explain the unusual violence of his reaction," Dr Grey agreed – smiling too now, even at Tony, as he nodded too, referring back to his notes on Tim's file.

"Though to be honest, it was a combination of several factors which caused Agent McGee to collapse. The greatest danger of bite wounds as deep as these is infection. And with so many inoculations involved, including high-strength antibiotics, there's always the risk of reaction against one of them.

And he's gone through a rough time from it, Agent Gibbs, especially with the additional effect of that cocaine in his system. I'm afraid with that, and the height of his fever, he's gone through a very rough time indeed. But he's stable now, and past its worst. He'll be under sedation now, and he'll sleep until at least tomorrow morning, but if you'd like to see him, I'm sure Dr Mallard would enjoy the company-"

Another moment which they'd spent the last hour waiting for - but now that it had finally arrived?

No, for Tony and Abby, this long awaited walk to Tim McGee's room was a double-edged blessing – the shock in Tony's face speaking volumes for them both, as they caught their first glimpse of him through the window of its doorway.

Under Ducky's expert, if rather grim-faced guard, they saw a body surrounded by tubes and wires.

And Tony DiNozzo's voice, hushed and horrified, summed it all up in three, guilt-ridden words.

"Oh, my God-"


	6. Chapter 6 Prisoners Of Conscience

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N- Awww, poor Timmy, I'm really putting him through hell, aren't I? While he's enjoying some respite, though, I thought I'd share it around. Yes, I know - I'm so generous ;o)

References here for Identity Crisis and Kill Ari, as Tony and Abby try to deal with what's happened. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Six – Prisoners Of Conscience

Just days ago, they'd been sharing a now perversely cruel joke – the latest choices for 'McGee's Mutt'

Several weeks earlier, on a chronically slow work-day, Tim McGee had announced he was getting a puppy - a faithful friend who could share his couch and, just maybe, lick his face a little bit, too.

Needless to say, Tony and Ziva had been full of _almost_ helpful suggestions over what breed to get. Ziva had thought a pit-bull would suit him, while Tony had gone, rather less flatteringly, for a cocker spaniel

Even Gibbs had chipped in with Australian Shepherd – pointedly adding they were '_working_' dogs.

None of them had suggested a German Shepherd, though. And Tony DiNozzo _wasn_'_t_ laughing now.

Staring down, into the haggard face beside him, his own lifted into a humourless, self-chiding smile. Thanks to his latest 'probie-prank' – yeah, you could safely count Dobermans out of the equation too.

It had been a stupid, completely thoughtless thing to do – and Tony DiNozzo still bitterly regretted it.

Damn it, the kid hadn't deserved that. And he sure as hell didn't deserve its continuing consequences.

Even in sleep, it seemed that Tim McGee was still being haunted by its subconscious legacy – fearful winces creasing Tim's face now, while soft whimpers filtered through the mask that covered it.

Tony knew it was pointless to say sorry to him now. He was still too sick, too deeply drugged, for that.

He had to try, though. For so many reasons, he had to let his adoptive kid brother know he was there. And when Tim McGee needed serious reassurance, only one of his countless nicknames would do.

"I – I know you can't hear me, kid, but… Tim, I'm sorry," Tony said at last, squeezing Tim's hand – quietly recalling the other times he'd used this term of brotherly affection over the more ubiquitous 'probie'.

Kate's death stood out, of course. So did the incredible courage his 'kid' had shown in its aftermath.

When he'd expressed pride at the guts it had taken, for Tim to come down to see her dead body alone – hell, for once in his ever-wisecracking life, Tony DiNozzo hadn't been joking. He'd meant every word.

So yes, he was proud of his kid. _His_ McGee. _His_ probie. From now on, Tony vowed, he'd tell him that more often.

Even as he tried to appease it, though, guilt still pricked at his conscience, refusing to let up on him.

Dr Grey had assured him that McGee's collapse hadn't been his fault. So had Gibbs. So had Ducky. But that didn't stop Tony DiNozzo from feeling guiltily responsible for the heavy toll it had taken on him.

Cocooned in IV tubes, and surrounded by monitors, his friend-cum-surrogate-brother looked like hell.

Still held in a spiking fever, Tim was still shifting restlessly through it, trying to escape its heat – a worrying surge of 'heartbeeps' on the screen beside him showing, painfully clearly, what that effort cost him.

And if only from his fretting subconscious, Tim McGee now acknowledged his best friend's presence – although Tony couldn't be sure if that pitiful clench of fingers around his hand had come from coherent gratitude or delirious terror.

It was the former, he decided, squeezing Tim's hand in return. He couldn't think about the alternative.

Gradually, though, to sighs of collective relief, the beeps and jumping tracelines settled down again – sedating drugs, and Tim's own exhaustion, pulling him back into a sanctuary of peaceful, healing sleep.

Not everyone was smiling, though. Not everyone could fully enjoy his now calm, carefree expression.

Tony DiNozzo may have soothed part of his conscience, but Abby's still offered her no sign of mercy.

Even with Gibbs hugging her on one side, and Ducky on the other, she couldn't appreciate their support. And while Tony had shown no qualms in taking Tim's hand to offer him comfort, she just _couldn_'_t _bring herself to touch him.

Each time she reached out to straighten his hair, or stroke his cheek, her hand stopped frustratingly short. Not even Ducky's gentle assurances could convince her to let that hand finish the rest of its journey.

"Abby, it's alright, he's sleeping. It's alright, you can touch him if you want to, you _won_'_t_ hurt him-"

More than anything in the world, Abby wanted to touch the face that she'd come to love so much, but – no, from the intimacy they'd once shared, that she now sorely missed, he'd still know it was her.

And after the way she'd treated him, and hurt him, surely he wouldn't want her anywhere near him?

She wanted so much to touch him, though – just to prove to herself that he really _was_ alright. Eventually, it took the voice of someone who knew what she was going through to convince her to try.

"Ducky's right, Abs- see?" Tony said at last, nodding to where he still gently held Tim's hand.

"I'm not hurting him, and- yeah, you see? It isn't hurting him, it's _helping_ him to… well, sleep, and- you know, get better-"

As he'd hoped, just this one, gently stressed word had reached an unbreakable part of Abby's character. If stroking his hair helped her precious Timmy to sleep, and helped him to heal, then she was all for it.

So, _very_ gently, she brushed her hand over Tim's fringe, anxiously watching his face for any reaction.

When none came, she let her fingers drift onto his temple, where she knew he liked to be stroked – finally meeting Tony's eyes again, in a glance which only they, and their consciences, understood.

Yes, he was letting them comfort him _now_, but only because he was too deeply unconscious to notice.

Tomorrow, though, he'd be awake. He'd be strong enough then, and lucid enough, to talk to them. But would he _want_ to talk to them? Would he even listen to their apologies, let alone accept them?

And, most crucially of all, would Tim McGee still trust them enough afterwards to forgive them?


	7. Chapter 7 To Hell And Back

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- I know I sound like a broken record here, but thanks so much for the reviews, they've all been so encouraging!

Okay, so we know Tim's going to be alright, but it's going to be a rough recovery for him. And for me, at least, there could only be one person there with him when he wakes up. So, as always, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Seven - To Hell And Back

He was getting restless again – something that Gibbs had expected, even without Dr Grey's advice.

God knew, he'd woken up in enough hospitals himself to recognize the subtle changes of movement, these telltale hitches of breathing. He knew how disorientating it was going to be, for Tim McGee to wake up in this strange, sterile room. And after the hellish trip he'd just unwillingly been on, it was going to be damn frightening for him too.

So yes, aside from that last part, Gibbs knew what his youngest agent was about to go through. He'd spent most of the night preparing for it.

His hearing, the last sense he'd lost to gently induced sleep, would be the first to return to him now. And the first thing he'd need to hear, as he finally woke from it, would be a voice he'd recognize – prompting Gibbs to call him now and take his hand, giving him two crucial points of contact, as Tim's eyes started to flicker open.

"McGee? Tim? It's okay, Tim, I'm here. Easy now, you're okay, you're gonna be alright-"

He'd said these words countless times, of course, as Tim had struggled to regain full awareness – smiling too when a slurred, sleepily delirious voice had paid him the greatest compliment he could ask for, but never openly share.

"_D'ddy, 'm – 'm sick… don' wanna go school t'day_…"

Dryly wondering what else those big green eyes had been able to wheedle through his childhood, Gibbs had gently tousled Tim's hair, and quietly humoured him as any father, real or otherwise, would soothingly do.

"_Yeah, okay, Tim. School's out, just for today_. _It's okay, Timmy, daddy's here._ Ssh, g_o_ _back to sleep now, I'm here-_"

Even at that tender age, though, Tim McGee had clearly been as stubborn then as he was now. He'd sleep when he was damn good and ready, however sick he was. And in spite of Gibbs' best efforts to soothe him to sleep, he'd been determined to stay awake.

Gibbs had sobered then - silently hating the blankness, the complete lack of recognition, in the eyes which had stared back at him. Those eyes, always so full of life and intelligence, had been frighteningly empty.

This time, though, to a relief which made him grin in pure gratitude, Gibbs could finally see it – a spark of familiar, puzzled curiosity which told him Tim McGee was back in the land of lucidity.

And the sleepy mumble that eventually followed, however faint, made that grin even wider.

"-b – b'ss?"

A pause then, and another deepening frown while Tim's eyes travelled slowly around him – followed, inevitably, by a groan of realization which made Gibbs break into outright laughter.

"H – Hosp-… aw, _cr_'_p-_"

"Couldn't have put it better myself, McGee," Gibbs chuckled, gently ruffling Tim's hair – his grin fading considerably, though, as alarm rather than appreciation flashed through Tim's eyes.

In a still feverish mind, or maybe from another childhood memory, waking up in hospital, plus Gibbs, plus ruffled hair, equalled _serious_ trouble.

And his response, when it finally came, was a stark reminder of what he'd just been through.

"-b'ss? 'm – 'm I _that_ sick?"

He wasn't so much now, of course, but twenty hours ago? Hell, yes, he'd been sick then.

And Gibbs could tell, by the sharp hitch in his breathing, that Tim was starting to remember it too – his hand already reaching for a nearby oxygen mask as that panic threatened to overwhelm him

"Easy, Tim. Easy now, it's alright. Just breathe, Tim, slow and easy… that's it, Tim, just breathe…"

It took several seconds, and a liberal hit of oxygen, but to Gibbs' relief, Tim finally began to settle. In fact, that oxygen hadn't just cleared his head, it had brought some much-needed strength back too.

He was smiling now, even managing a flash of rueful humour, as he rested back into his pillows.

"I'd – I'd say the 's' word, boss, but- well, I'm in enough trouble already-"

Even as he smiled back, enjoying this familiar joke between them, Gibbs felt a puzzled frown behind it.

He could understand DiNozzo's guilt trip, and Abby's, but for Tim McGee to start on one too now?

Aside from giving his boss a few more grey hairs, he'd done nothing to say the 's' word about, and – well no, Gibbs corrected himself, dryly answering his own rhetorical question, that wasn't entirely true.

Against his brilliance with computers, Tim McGee's skills as a scientist tended to get overlooked. From that, he would have recognized the signs of anaphylaxis, and known he needed urgent help. If he'd let Ducky check him over when he first felt ill, its traumatic aftermath could have been avoided

So yes, Tim McGee had to take _some_ responsibility for the collapse which could have killed him.

For the sake of his own healing, though, Gibbs knew Tim had to face that admission himself.

Tim knew it, too. His smile had faded a little - and when he finally spoke, his voice was tellingly quiet.

"I – I knew something was wrong, boss. I – I knew I was sick, and – and I went to see Ducky, but- well, Ab- Abby was there, and she was still real mad at me, for – for shooting Jethro, and… well, I-"

"-went back to the bullpen instead," Gibbs finished for him, watching Tim's face for his reaction – knowing, from the strain he found there, that Tim McGee wasn't strong enough to face that memory yet

As Gibbs had resignedly expected, the smiling humour he'd seen, just moments before, had vanished – the quietness in Tim's voice, the sudden blankness in his eyes, merely hinting at the bitter pain beyond.

"I'm – I'm real tired, boss. I'd like to sleep now."

Realizing all hope he'd had to repair two broken friendships was gone now, Gibbs sighed and nodded – hoping a bright smile covered his concern, and his disappointment, as he gently patted Tim's shoulder.

"Yeah, Tim, I can see that. Okay, you get some rest now. I'll be back later, okay?"

Encouraged, if just partly, by a still subdued nod of agreement, Gibbs then rose from his chair – watching over him, waiting until Tim had fully settled again, before releasing a sigh of rueful frustration

Through harsh words, misjudgment, and crass stupidity, three of his kids were at emotional loggerheads.

It was going to take every one of a father's skills to repair the damage. And if he couldn't do it alone - well, then he'd just have to call in the family cavalry.


	8. Chapter 8 The Ties That Bind

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Oh dear! After the end of that last chapter, I think Gibbs might need to call that family cavalry in to keep his team together. And since I've rather neglected poor Ziva in this story, I thought I'd let her help him out in her own, wonderfully unique way.

As always, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Eight - The Ties That Bind

Time, it was said, could heal all wounds. Gibbs hoped the same adage applied to another decent night's sleep. Maybe that was why he'd given Tim McGee a few more hours of nap-time before calling in to see him. The more time the boy had to rest and regain his strength, the easier the next stage in his recovery would be.

He hoped.

Even so, it was still only just past noon, so he'd naturally assumed he'd be Tim's first visitor of the day. Finding him already awake, and lap-deep in wrapping paper, Gibbs grinned at how pleasantly he'd been proven wrong.

Ziva had clearly got to him first.

When he'd called her the previous night, to ask her to organise the traditional cards and collection – yeah, Gibbs dryly reflected, maybe he should have been a bit more specific on the protocols involved. After all, Tim McGee would be laid up for several days yet, so there was no real rush to get it done.

Without that advice, though, and without waiting for _his_ contribution either, Ziva had just gone for it, with her usual, unique enthusiasm.

She'd found plenty of support, of course, both from the previous night and today's early morning shifts, and – jeez, she must have been up all night, to get so much collected, and so much bought, so damn _fast_.

Watching Tim rip through his latest envelope, Gibbs laughed outright now as he pictured the scene – his Mossad agent striding through the bullpen, terrifying the bewildered night-shift into submission.

Still, it served _them_ right for swiping Ducky's tea, Abby's Caf-Pows, and Tony's prized jelly donuts.

So yes, Ziva's grasp on language and culture could be shaky at times, the butt of endless jokes, but – hell, Gibbs had to give her credit for getting things done and, more to the point, her sense of loyalty.

For so long the outsider, met with wary suspicion, she was now a crucial, _fully_ trusted part of his team.

And, judging by Tim McGee's appreciative laughter, she had quite the eye for card-humour too. This one was so funny, apparently, that it took several seconds for Tim to notice he had company – the grin that followed a promising sign that time, sleep, and Ziva's attempts to re-build some broken bridges, had all worked their wonders.

"Hey, boss! You've, um- just missed Ziva," he said at last, nodding to the box beside him – frowning slightly at Gibbs' huff of laughter, but thinking no more of it as Gibbs settled into his seat.

"So I see," Gibbs retorted dryly, dropping some errant strands of parcel ribbon into a nearby bin – Tim's typically fastidious search for more giving him a chance to give his young agent a discreet once-over.

He was still rather pale, but his eyes were clear, and he looked much happier than he'd done last night.

Gibbs smiled too now. Ziva had clearly tried to play her part in resolving the fall-out between the colleagues who'd become her surrogate family – giving Gibbs hope that the issues he couldn't face then might now be just a little easier to resolve.

That, though, could wait until Tim McGee was ready to talk – and Gibbs wasn't going to force him. There was just too much at stake, for too many people, to risk forcing him into it before he was ready.

He really should have known better. As he was constantly finding, Tim McGee was just _full_ of surprises. And when he 'um-ed…' as much as this – yeah, Gibbs dryly noted, a real humdinger usually followed.

"I- um… well, um, a-about the other night, boss, and- um, what happened in the bullpen, with… um-"

Okay, it had come kinda earlier than he'd expected, and caught him completely off-guard, but – well, however unexpected this opportunity was, Jethro Gibbs was still damn grateful to take it.

"Tony?" he prodded gently, giving Tim's arm a rallying squeeze as he passed him a glass of water.

"It's okay, Tim, just take your time. Tell me what happened."

That won him a shyly grateful smile as Tim nodded, taking a long drink while he thought out his reply – composed enough, when he finally spoke, for his stutter to lessen, and the 'um's…' to _almost_ disappear.

"I – I guess that's one good thing about being laid up like this, boss, it- um, gives you time to think. I've been awake all morning, just- well, thinking about what happened, and _why_ it happened, and- well, I can remember it too now, boss. _All_ of it. Everything, from going to Ducky to when I collapsed.

I remember Tony running back to catch me. He tried so hard to reach me, boss, he tried _so_ hard. And I remember him holding me. Even when I threw up on him, all those times, he- well, he still wouldn't let me go-"

Pausing for a moment, both to gather his thoughts and regain his composure, Tim McGee then smiled – the strength of his friendship with his surrogate big brother summed up with soft but heartfelt pride.

"I know I was pretty out of it by then, but- well, I remember it _now_, boss. I – I know he was there-"

He'd spoken typically softly, and tiredness had slightly slurred his words, but Gibbs didn't mind that. However quiet and hesitant that voice had been, he'd still heard the gratitude, and forgiveness, within it.

As so often happened in times of crisis, one moment of crass stupidity could still be forgiven, and forgotten.

And eyes that would always show what Tim McGee was _really_ feeling conveyed the same message. For Tony DiNozzo at least, the crisis which had almost wrecked a truly priceless friendship was over.

He still hadn't mentioned Abby, of course, but – well, right now, Gibbs didn't mind that either. After the way she'd hurt him, forgiveness for her would take a bit longer. But it would come. It _would_ come.

For now, Gibbs gratefully accepted this breakthrough which, just last night, had seemed impossible.

One down. One to go.

An hour later, a smiling Jethro Gibbs slipped out of Tim McGee's room, leaving him in peace to sleep – his smile widening as he dialled his cellphone, and pictured the scene of pure relief its call would bring.

"DiNozzo…? Breakfast tomorrow. Bethesda. And bring some _real_ big pieces of humble pie"


	9. Chapter 9 Bonds Beyond Brotherhood

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Well, here we are - the first 'face-to-face' between Tim and Tony.

I couldn't decide whether to make this chapter an all-out angsty one, or to go for a lighter approach. Let's face it, these boys are at their adorable best when they're making us laugh! So after much discussion with my McMuse, I settled for a little bit of both. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Nine - Bonds Beyond Brotherhood

Tim McGee frowned. While he'd been sleeping, someone had clearly been meddling with his meds. There really was no other, logical way to explain what he'd just seen in the doorway to his room.

Casting another suspicious glance towards his IV, Tim then smiled, then laughed in wry exasperation. Okay, so he still had God knew what dripping into his bloodstream, but… no, it _wasn_'_t_ the meds. And he wasn't tripping out again, either.

A white flannel, ingeniously taped to the end of a gently waggling crutch, could only mean –

"Get in here, DiNozzo"

A face honed into a study of '_who_, _me_?' innocence poked itself around the edge of the doorframe – its breezy grin, and Tony's equally bright greeting, not _quite_ masking the awkwardness beyond.

"Hey, McMind-Reader! How'd you know it was me?"

"Lucky guess," Tim shot back, lifting the silent cloud of tension between them, as only he could.

"'sides, you're the only shameless nutcase I know who'd shang-hai supplies from a hospital closet."

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe the stuff they keep in there," Tony grinned slyly back at him – that grin turning to full devilish strength as Tim raised his hands in '_I_-_don_'_t_-_want_-_to_-_know_' surrender.

Beyond this familiar banter, though, both knew far more serious issues still had to be addressed – a still niggling conscience prompting Tony to make the first, still hesitant move to fully regain Tim McGee's trust.

Resting his makeshift peace-pole on a nearby chair, he then moved on to stand at Tim's bedside – encouraged by the bright-eyed welcome he found there to ask the first, somewhat clichéd question.

"So, um- how you doing, probie?"

A gentle smile was reassuringly familiar. All things considered, Tony would gladly have settled for that. So a wickedly mischievous grin, and the dry quip that followed, caught him completely by surprise.

"_Ruff-_"

Recovering himself, Tony grinned back – but not quite convincingly enough for Tim McGee's liking. Or maybe it was the joke which, in hindsight, had been corny enough to make Tim pull a face too.

_Ruff_?!? Jeez, McGee, _don_'_t_ give up the day job.

Realizing how that wince could be misinterpreted, Tim quickly turned it back into a reassuring grin while easing himself up on his pillows.

"I'm fine, Tony. Just kinda tired-"

"Yeah, I bet," Tony agreed, nodding in sympathy while perching himself on the edge of Tim's bed – his next words not so much the understatement of a century, more that of the entire millennium.

"You had us worried there, probie. Gave us quite a scare."

"Yeah, Tony, I know. I kinda scared me too," Tim admitted quietly, toying with the bandage on his arm – his voice dropping even lower now, in self-condemnation, as he nodded to the sling that supported it.

"It shouldn't be my arm in this thing, Tony. It should be my butt, for being so damn stupid-"

"I hope there's room for mine," Tony grinned, trying to lift this unsettling drop in Tim's mood – that grin fading considerably as Tim shook his head, the smile he'd hoped to see refusing to re-appear

Damn, this was serious. None of those famous nicknames, not even the failsafe 'kid' was going to work here. And he could guiltily count on one hand the number of times he'd called his own best friend this way, but - well, needs must.

"Hey, c'mon, Tim, ease up," he said at last, giving the side of Tim's leg a gently rallying slap.

"If anyone deserves their butt in a sling, it's me, for pulling that dumb stunt on you. This wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?" Tim cut in quietly, still too angry with himself to notice this rare use of his first name.

When it finally registered, it brought back just a trace of a shyly appreciative, kid brother smile – but, to Tony's dismay, no change to his mood as he took a deep breath and ploughed relentlessly on.

"I know I'm everyone's geek-boy, Tony, but I'm a scientist, too. I knew what was wrong with me. I knew it was serious, something that could even have killed me. So yes, Tony, this _is_ my fault. I knew what was happening. I've caused all this trouble, caused all this worry, and I could… I _should_ have stopped it-"

"Yeah, and we _both_ know why you didn't," Tony shot back, his frustration getting the better of him – Tim McGee's emotions inevitably overwhelming him too, now, as everything came rushing back.

That damn dog. The attack. Abby. The comfort he'd needed – and the way she'd turned on him instead.

He'd put his own life at risk rather than face her. He'd felt himself falling, as a stricken voice yelled his name.

Strong arms had wrapped around him then, holding him, as his body shook uncontrollably within them.

As Tim started to shake again, falling into helpless tears, those same arms gently encircled him now – that same voice bringing him strength and priceless comfort through its inevitable aftermath.

"Attaboy, probie. Yeah, you've had all this inside you for too long, haven't you, huh? Yeah, you've been through hell, kid, but you'll be okay now. It's okay, Tim, I'm here."

Focussed, completely, on his stricken friend, Tony was oblivious to the eyes that covertly watched him – the anger which had crossed Gibbs' face just moments before giving way to a smile of fatherly approval.

However brashly he'd done it, Tony DiNozzo had made Tim McGee confront his conscience. Now he'd be able to come to terms with it, forgive himself for his own lapse in judgement. And from that, he'd be able to share that precious forgiveness around, to those who needed it, so they could _all_ start to heal.

So yes – yes, as he stole silently away, Jethro Gibbs knew his chalk and cheese boys were going to be just fine. The bonds between them went beyond brotherhood. They were still there.

They'd _always_ be there.


	10. Chapter 10 Big Brother 101

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Awww, poor Timmy! Our poor probie just can't catch a break, can he? Of course, there's even more angst for him in this chapter - but some light at the end of the tunnel, too ;o)

Chapter Ten - Big Brother 101

He'd been crying for several minutes now. Then again, Tony sadly reflected, he had a lot to cry about. The kid had almost died, so – yes, for that alone, Tim McGee had one hell of a good reason to cry - and even more need to purge it out of his system.

Finally, though, the tears stopped, allowing Tim's breathing to regain its normal, if still shaky rhythm.

A few more moments, a final hand-wipe over his eyes, and he was composed enough to push himself away – meeting Tony's anxious eyes with a faint, dazedly embarrassed smile as he settled back into his pillows.

"Yeah, Tony, I'm – I'm okay, and- jeez, where the hell did _that_ come from?"

"Where you've just been," Tony reminded him, with the complete seriousness this moment needed - keeping that seriousness in his voice as he gave Tim's shoulder a rallying shake.

"You've been through hell, probie. You almost died. You had to expect... well, some kind of reaction."

"Yeah, I'm kinda making a habit of those," Tim retorted dryly, pulling a suitable face to go with it.

Beyond its ruefulness, though, there was also real gratitude in the soft, shy words that followed.

"Speaking of which, Tony, I – I haven't thanked you yet, for the- um… well, you know, what you did, when I- um…"

Oh, this was great. Two degrees, a genius level IQ – and he _still_ couldn't manage a simple thank-you.

Luckily, to Tim's silent gratitude, Tony could still understand hopelessly tongue-tied gibberish. Then again, he'd had plenty of practice. A grin that promised no end of teasing payback told him that.

"Hey, McGoo, it comes with the job. And _I_'_m_ the senior agent, so _I_'_m_ allowed," Tony said at last – giving this long running joke between them a typically ingenious, if rather unrealistic twist.

"You're _my_ probie, probie - and if anyone's gonna keep your rowdy butt in line, it's gonna be me."

Tim McGee's dinner-plated eyes swung up, yet again, to his IV. Damn meds. What the hell were they giving him?

_His_ butt in line? And _rowdy_? No wonder he now stared back at his friend in such disbelief.

It was usually the other way around, of course, and Tony damn well knew it, but - no, Tim let it ride. After everything Tony had done, to bring him through this nightmare, this wasn't the time to be picky.

"So big brother's watching me?" he said at last, casting that big brother a suitably kid-brother grin – his eyes widening once more, in puzzled surprise, at the contrasting seriousness of Tony's reply.

"He's learning to, probie. He's trying to get through big brother 101, but- well, sometimes he messes up. He makes stupid, thoughtless mistakes. He hurts people, the special people he cares about. He over-steps the mark, simply because he doesn't know when to walk away from it. And he may not always say it when he should, Tim, but- well, he's _always_ sorry."

Ten seconds passed. Fifteen. And Tim McGee's voice _still_ couldn't move past the lump in his throat – the pure astonishment in his eyes gradually giving way to another, mutually needed breakthrough.

Tony DiNozzo had let all his protective defences down, and told his best friend what he needed to hear.

One of them could easily have been overcome again, too, by the significance of what the other had said. But to Tony's relief, Tim's eyes still held their familiar brightness, without the threat of further tears. And when he finally smiled back at him, Tony knew he'd turned another crucial corner in his recovery.

They still had one hell of a lot to talk about, but the friendship between them was still there.

From a moment of complete honesty, their unique bond of brotherhood had become even stronger. And if _that_ bond was still intact, Tony knew that another, equally precious friendship had also survived.

Against all the odds, Tony knew he'd been forgiven for a moment of utter stupidity. Now he knew that, in time, Abby would be too.

As it so often did, Tim McGee's forgive-and-forget compassion astonished him. It humbled him too. Whatever abuse people threw at him – and God knew, there'd been _plenty_ of that – this kid just took it.

He just soaked it all up, like a gawky, geeky- oh, _yes_! To hell with it, this was just _too_ priceless! And he'd surely pay for it, too, eventually, but – no, right now, Tony DiNozzo just didn't care.

"So, McSpongebob," he said at last, loving the rueful grin which now blessedly returned to Tim's face – pausing for effect, choosing his moment, before gleefully presenting him with the ultimate threat.

"Have you gotten off _your_ guilt trip too yet, or do you want me to get Gibbs to do it for you?"

To his '_uh_-_oh_' surprise, Tim didn't reply straight away. Instead he just smiled, that wonderfully gentle smile, and shook his head.

He'd never tell Tony this aloud, of course, he'd never hear the end of it, but… no, Tony was right. This three-way guilt trip had hurt too many people. It had to stop, here and now, and that meant –

"Actually, Tony, do- um… do – do you think you could call someone else?"

Now it was Tony's turn to grin a sly, conspiratory grin as he reached into his jeans for his cellphone. Playing big brother was one thing, but probie's personal slave? Yeah, that probie could dream on.

"What, I'm your _errand_ boy now, McLoafy?" he said at last, tossing his phone into Tim's lap – meeting the surprised stare which followed with a brotherly wink as he picked up his peace-pole.

"'sides, I need to get this stuff back before it's missed, and the nurses here are just- oh, _mama_!"

Realizing what he'd meant, and what he was up to, Tim tried, in vain, to smother his laughter. Where there was a pretty woman around, you could bet Tony DiNozzo would be there too. It was a miracle that he'd waited long enough to close the door behind him, and –

oh, come on, you lumbering, lovesick wuss! How hard can it be to just make one, simple phone call?

Still nervously fingering Tony's cell, Tim took a deep breath, then another - then hit speed-dial two.

"Ab-Abby? No, it's- yeah, it's- um… hi…"


	11. Chapter 11 Holding On, Letting Go

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Well, I don't know about you, but after all that angst, and before Abby makes her peace with Tim, I could use some light relief! So with reference to one of my favourite scenes from Witch Hunt, poor Gibbs is about to go through every father's nightmare – trying to tell Abby what _not_ to wear!

Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven - Holding On, Letting Go

He'd gone through this before, of course. Four times, in fact, with four fashion-conscious wives, but – jeez, how long did it take for just one woman, with one closet of clothes, to choose what to wear?

Hindsight, of course, was a wonderful thing. He really, _really_, should have told her that last outfit she'd chosen was fine, so they could get moving. Instead he'd made the mortal mistake of shrugging, and - well, that had been it.

Watching Abby dash, yet again, into her office, Gibbs sipped his latest coffee and groaned while trying, without success, to sit comfortably on his seat.

At this rate, Tim McGee would be out of hospital, and half way to retirement, before she -

- oh, _good_ _grief!_

Not content with threatening to kill off her team-mates if they annoyed her too much, now she'd moved onto him. Death by choking on his coffee. Yeah, Abs, _real_ cute.

Faced with a dizzying combination of white silk and black tattoos, Gibbs then hastily bit back a grin. Yes, she looked every bit as amazing in that dress as Marilyn had done, maybe even more so, but – no, for the sake of Tim McGee's delicate, still recuperating heart-beat, he had to stay firm.

"He needs to keep his blood pressure _down_, Abs - _not_ send it into orbit-"

Marilyn Monroe's pout had been famously irresistible. Abby Sciuto's gave it a fair run for its money.

"But Gibbs! I want to look my best for him! And it's – it's his favourite!"

'_Really_?_ Can_'_t think why-_'

"Abs, it was bad enough last time. If he sees you in _that_ dress, in _his_ condition, his IV will explode."

Another irresistible pout. A frown of grudging defeat, and… oh hell, _another_ trip to the closet.

Okay, it was a woman's right to change her mind, especially over what to wear, but – _jeez_. Twenty minutes gone, she still hadn't chosen anything – and she hadn't even started on the make-up yet.

Of course, Gibbs knew there were more serious reasons for Abby's 'what-to-wear' dithering than that.

Yes, Tim McGee had finally called her, so he was clearly as anxious to heal this rift between them as she was. But after the hurt she'd caused him, and what had happened, so traumatically, to him because of it – yes, he could understand why Abby's initial, joyous relief had changed into this butterflying panic.

Time, he dryly decided, for a bit of fatherly fence-building through the doors of Abby's office.

"Abs, he called _you_, remember? He wouldn't have done that if he didn't want to see you-"

'_Some time this year-_'

To Gibbs' relief, Abby's famous psychic vibes had picked up on that last, gently sarcastic afterthought. Thirty seconds later, she stood anxiously in the doorway to her office, waiting for his approval – her lace top and plaid skirt more demure than usual, but still 'Abby' enough to earn a winking grin.

And when he kissed her cheek, as he always did when he was proud of her, she even smiled back.

She was still understandably nervous, though. Their second journey to Bethesda Hospital was as quiet as the first.

So it was a strange relief when, as they walked to Tim's room, she was suddenly full of questions – even if that anxious, quick-fire interrogation _did_ follow a certain, sweetly repetitive pattern.

"And – And he _is_ okay now- right, Gibbs? I – I mean, he _looks_ okay, and – and he sounds okay? He's _really_ gonna be okay now? Even with all those tubes, and – and wires, and-"

"Yeah, Abs, he's fine, he's really okay-" Gibbs assured her, drawing her into a gentle hug – finding it impossible not to smile as she glared at him, in 'don't-dare-humour-me-Gibbs' scepticism.

"He's just on one IV now, and you might find he still gets tired kinda fast. Ducky's still kinda miffed that he started snoring halfway through one of his stories, but- yeah, he's really okay. See?"

All her scepticism, if not her nerves, vanished now as Abby stared through the window in front of her. It was just a small square of glass, set at eye-level into the door. But the view through it was still enough.

She could still see him, stretched out on top of his bed. Her sweet, precious, irreplaceable Timmy.

He needed every inch of that bed, too, especially its length. Jeez, who'd built it? Munchkins?

In fact, she was sure she could see his toes, in sweetly snug bedsocks, poking out beyond its covers.

She couldn't see his face, though. Lying slightly on his side, his back was, rather ominously, turned towards her. He wasn't moving either, and after what Gibbs had just told her, she'd assumed he was sleeping.

But then he stirred and stretched, rolling further onto his back - the tousled head shifting on its pillow. As if invisibly guided, that head turned to its side so that he faced towards her.

Startled at first, staring back at her in open surprise, Tim's face then broke into a smile of pure joy. And even with the distance between them, Abby could still see the delight in those big, beautiful eyes.

She could see relief, too, and awkward, guilty regret, and – yes, every emotion she now felt herself.

With reassuring strength, he then levered himself up onto his pillows, clearly eager to greet her – his smile fading a little, into a nervously anxious frown as Abby remained rooted where she stood.

But then the gentlest of nudges, and the softest of voices, coaxed her to open the door in front of her.

"It's okay, Abs, go to him. Go on, you _both_ need to do this-"

Watching her move, so nervously, towards Tim's bed, Gibbs felt an overwhelming urge to follow.

He loved Abby as the daughter he'd so tragically lost, with Ziva a close second. Along with Tony, Tim McGee was the son he'd never had at all.

Even though they weren't his own, he still felt a father's natural instinct to protect and guide these four unique, incredible kids. Yet Gibbs resisted that instinct. For once, for just this one time, he had to let two of them go, and find their own way.

Tim and Abby were on their own. Whatever they had to say to each other, to let each of them heal, had to said, and heard, in private.

Even so, he couldn't resist one final, protective glimpse through the window of Tim McGee's room – smiling at the sight of two now tightly entwined soulmates, before leaving them to heal in peace.

After so many days of painful separation, they'd finally found each other. At last, they were finally holding on. Now he could freely let them go.


	12. Chapter 12 The Healing Heart

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- All I'll say for this chapter is that it's McAbby, all the way - and just my thoughts on why Tim can always forgive her so easily. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Twelve - The Healing Heart

Inevitably, tears came first. Overcome with so many emotions, they just clung to each other, and cried. Other than choked whispers of names, the words each needed so badly to say just couldn't come.

They _would_ come, of course, but not yet. Those words of mutual healing still needed time to form.

So they simply held each other – one in still sobbing apology, the other in silent, soothing forgiveness.

She could feel his heartbeat, too. A soft, steady confirmation that he was there, and still holding her. But it reminded her, too, of how close she'd come to losing this priceless chance to hear it again.

She'd almost lost him. She'd hurt him so deeply, and then he'd almost died, before she could tell him –

"T – Timmy, I'm sorry - how could I have done this to you? I'm sorry, Timmy. I'm so, so sorry-"

"I know, Abs, I know you are, I'm sorry, too, for putting you through all this… sh, now, it's okay, it's gonna be alright now-"

Damn it, how could it be alright? How could her life _ever_ be alright, without him there to share it? And how could she hear his voice now, when he was lying there, so cold and lifeless, in front of her?

How could his voice possibly reach her now? He was dead, his throat ripped brutally apart, and –

"Abby, it's okay... sh, I'm here. It's alright, Abby, I'm here-"

He was, too. She could feel him, warm and strong, and so solid – wrapping her into gentle safety. And as his voice broke through the horrors of her imagination, the lifeless face in front of her changed.

The injuries which had killed him, so horrifically, melted away into Tim McGee's breathtaking smile. Eyes which should have been closed forever blinked open again – big and bright, full of beautiful green life.

In her imagination, she'd just seen an impossible miracle. Her cherished Timmy had just come back from the dead. As she found those eyes and smile in reality now, that miracle just proved too much for Abby to take.

"T – Timmy, you're-…! But – But you were… you wer-"

Then she was crying again, in helpless buckets onto his shoulder. Crying in pure, overwhelming relief.

Puzzled by why she'd stared up at him, in such disbelief, Tim then winced in sickened realization.

He'd almost died. He was still haunted by its trauma himself, so he knew Abby would feel the same. No wonder she clung to him so fiercely, beyond reach of the comfort he wanted so badly to give her.

In fresh tears himself now, all Tim could do was hold her, hold her hand against his heart, and let his own, living body speak for him. And through this simple, silent contact, the next stage of this shared healing between them could begin.

When they'd been together, as lovers, and she'd woken, shaking, from nightmares just like this one – yes, just as he was doing now, he'd held her closer, kissing her hair while he rocked her calm again.

His voice had brought her immeasurable comfort then. It brought Abby even greater comfort now.

"Sh, Abs, it's okay. It's okay, Abby, I'm _here._ I'm alright, Abs, I'm _right_ here-"

The whisper that eventually answered him still choked with tears – but it still made Tim McGee smile.

"I – I know, Timmy, but I… I just need to crug-"

_Crug_?!? What the he-? Ah yes, 'cry' and 'hug'. C'mon, McGenius, your IQ's in triple figures. Use it.

Still smiling at this dry self-mockery, Tim rested his head back onto tousled pigtails, closed his eyes again, and let his mind contentedly drift.

Like so much else about her, Abby had a language all her own. He'd always loved it. He always would. But then, he loved everything about her. Despite their many differences, he just simply _loved_ her.

No other woman that he'd ever known - not that there'd been many - had caught his heart as she'd done. And none of them had made him ignore his chronic fear of needles so that he could show her how he felt.

Against her dizzying variety of cobwebs, crosses and dragons, of course, it was pretty tame, but – no, however badly it had made his butt sting, he'd never regretted his decision to go with 'mom'

More than anything, though, he loved her strength and her passion – her truly indomitable spirit. Like him, she'd had to overcome so many hurdles, and ignorant prejudice, to get where she was today.

She was brilliant, so unique, and yet such an outsider and… yeah, God knew, he knew what that felt like. As he'd painfully found himself, having a mind so far beyond others was no bed of black roses.

He'd been seen as a freak - finding friends among his cruelly teasing classmates only when exams had come around.

Realizing his lifelong dream hadn't been easy either. He'd had to fight like hell to make it happen.

This career, too, its consequences, and the constant horrors that he had to deal with, would _never_ be easy. And he knew Tony and Gibbs, Ziva and Ducky, would _all_ support him as much as his real family, but – no, for all that, when the dark times proved too much, Tim knew he'd always need his Abby the most.

More than any of them, even his own parents, even Sarah - no, Abby knew him better than anyone he knew. As his kindred spirit, she understood him. And she knew how to keep him out of the darkness which so frequently threatened them.

Yes, she'd hurt him, so deeply, and he'd vowed he'd _never_ forgive her, but – no, he just couldn't do it. His heart was just too compassionate, and her hold on it was just too strong, for that to ever happen.

She was his rock. His soulmate, the only person he knew who could genuinely understand him. And from that single, simple fact, Tim knew he'd _always_ forgive her.

Every time she looked up at him with those spellbinding eyes, just as they were nervously doing now – no, Tim McGee knew he'd smile, just as he did now, softly kiss her forehead, and forgive his Abby for just about anything_._


	13. Chapter 13 From Hell Into Hope

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Yes, I know - I'm a hopeless slushbucket when it comes to Tim and Abby! I can't help it, though, they're just so perfect for each other. So for all you other McAbby fans out there, who want them to kiss and make up, I hope you enjoy this chapter - I certainly enjoyed writing it!

Chapter Thirteen - From Hell Into Hope

When he'd last checked, Tim McGee had counted twenty four healthily solid, if rather ticklish ribs. In a crushing, all-out Abby hug, though… damn, he was sure he'd just heard two of them crack.

"Abs? _Abs_! Ribs - breathing… _kinda_ important-"

Thank God, he could breathe again, but – no, now she was squeezing his lunch out of his stomach. If she went much lower, and kept snuggling him like this… oh boy, things could get _real_ embarrassing.

Then again, she was practically sharing the bed with him now, her head on his chest, and both arms wrapped right around his waist, so – yeah, they'd kinda gone past embarrassing already.

She needed to hold him, though. After the flashback which had clearly terrified her, she needed this simple, reassuring contact. And until she could bring herself to talk about it, and so much else besides, she just needed to snuggle – letting the sound of his heartbeat convince her that her nightmare, in every sense, was really over.

Knowing better than to rush her, Tim just kept holding her, his free hand soothingly stroking her back – waiting until the pig-tailed head on top of his heart finally lifted, the eyes that met his still wet with tears.

And even though he'd guessed what was coming, its whispered confirmation still silently horrified him.

"You died, Timmy. You – You _died-_"

He'd _almost_ died, from his own bloody-mindedness, so he'd assumed her nightmare had come from that – hence the puzzled surprise Tim felt now, as Abby reached to shakily touch the gauze dressing on his neck.

It still hurt, of course, but not nearly as much as his arm – and the injury itself wasn't nearly so serious.

Through her nightmare, though, Abby clearly thought otherwise – and it had left her badly shaken. With the utmost care, and holding her reassuringly closer, Tim now gently tried to find out why.

"In – In the attack, Abs? Not from this, but… you – you mean when Jethro attacked me?"

Another shaky nod solved one mystery – but Abby's quiet answer only served to puzzle him with another.

"Ducky was right, Timmy. If – If you hadn't shot Jethro when you did, you could have died-"

Tim stared at that. _Ducky_? Aside from saving his life, when had Ducky become involved in all th-?

Oh, _crap_. Of course. That fateful trip to Autopsy. Yeah, how the hell could he have forgotten that?

His next question was obvious. Thankfully, Abby now saved him the trouble of trying to ask it.

"When you left the lab, and – and you were all upset, Ducky, he… well, he – he was kinda mad at me. And – And I know you'd already told me why you'd shot Jethro, that – that it was self defence, but… well, it took Ducky to make me understand why, to – to make me see what could have happened if-"

"I'd let him reach my neck," Tim quietly finished for her, nodding now in almost sad understanding – regret for that desperate act, and everything that happened since, reflected in his next, heartfelt words.

"Abby, I'm sorry. I really didn't want to hurt him, and if – if there'd been any other way, to-"

"No, Timmy, you _had_ to do it!" Abby insisted, with a welcome flash of her familiar loyalty – her priorities changed now, completely reversed by the near tragedy they'd both just been through.

"Timmy, you _had_ to defend yourself. He's just a dog… a – a beautiful dog, but he's not _you_, Timmy! _You_'_re_ you, and you're an _irreplaceable_ you. You're _my_ Timmy, and I could _never_ face losing that…"

For a clear twenty seconds, Tim McGee was speechless. Then, at last, he smiled back into her eyes.

It had taken a crisis which had almost killed him to make her say those words, but – well, at least he'd heard them. And trust his Abby to take the term 'kiss and make up' to a new, wonderful, then truly sublime level.

It was a moment of rare and precious intimacy, re-building each and every bond between them – one pricelessly ruined now as their shared big brother dropped in, to just 'check' how they were doing.

"Hey, Abs? If you want a ride back, we're about ready t-… aw, _jeez_, McStud! Find a room!"

Torn between embarrassment and exasperation, Tim glared at his best friend with a mixture of both. Baltimore's finest _ex_-detective? With those powers of observation? Yeah, right.

"We're already _in_ a room, Tony-"

"Yeah, Tony, and it's a _private_ room. You know, as in _private_?" Abby agreed, just as vehemently – any further wisecrack that Tony might have dared to make instantly quashed by her familiar, ultimate threat.

"A _private_ room, occupied by a forensic scientist who could kill you and _leave_ _no_ _traceable evidence_-"

Faced with that thought, and like all the best lieutenants, Tony DiNozzo did the only thing he could.

Leaving wicked laughter behind him, he fled back to the hospital cafeteria to de-brief his boss – hoping that massive mug of coffee would put Jethro Gibbs in a good mood for what he had to report.

"Uh, boss? You… um, you know number twelve?"

"Never date your co-workers? What about it, DiNozzo?"

"Well, I… uh, think McSlushy's forgotten it. _Again_…"

Gibbs' eyes widened, and for a moment, Di Nozzo felt tempted to run for the nearest safety bunker.

Anyone who dared to break, or simply forget, any of Gibbs' sacred rules was in _serious_ trouble – hence the disbelief he felt as he watched a slow smile of complete delight spread across his boss' face. And if that wasn't enough, he then heard Jethro Gibbs give quiet approval to the seemingly impossible.

"Oh, I hope he has, DiNozzo. I _really_ hope he has-"


	14. Chapter 14 Victims And Heroes

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Well, folks, here we are – almost the end of another story! I must admit, it's rather longer than I first expected, but I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

These final two chapters have gone through several re-writes, simply because I couldn't see how Tim could keep Jethro after what happened to him. But then, of course, you see that lovely photo of them together at the start of In The Zone. So to keep to the show's canon, and for any sequels for this story that I might want to do in the future, I had to think of some way to keep Jethro in. Eventually, I came up with this.

And since Joe Spano was one of my favourite characters in Hill Street Blues, there's a quick and _hopefully_ fitting reference to my _other_ favourite character from that classic series here.

There's one more chapter to come after this – as always, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen - Victims And Heroes

Big brothers. Real or otherwise, they were supposed to protect you, support you – take the rap for you.

And yes, they had the whole 'I'm older than you, and bigger than you, so I'm allowed to make your life hell' thing going for them, too, but – no, as he blinked at Tony's reaction to what he'd just said, Tim McGee had to admit, _this_ was different.

"_What_? Are you _nuts_?"

Subtly brushing granola crumbs from his shirt, Tim met Tony's eyes with his best baby brother smile.

"Mmm, peanuts, if I'm not mistaken-"

Faced with that smile, and such sarcasm, what could Tony DiNozzo possibly do in response? Well, he could double that last part. Easily.

"Oh, sure, McLoony, it's a _great_ idea! Adopt the dog that almost mauled you to death – _brilliant_!"

Reading the genuine concern beyond the sarcasm, Tim then sighed, growing patiently more serious.

"Tony, I know this sounds crazy, but… well, have you seen his service record? It's incredible!"

A pause, followed by the quiet determination which Tony DiNozzo already knew was coming.

"I really want to do this, Tony, okay? 'sides, if they go ahead and destroy him, Abby's gonna be devastated-"

'_Yep_, _shoulda known_…' Tony thought dryly, smiling at the real, inevitable reason for Tim's decision. Abby had spoken – and her smitten, chivalrous Timmy was, as usual, complete putty in her hands.

He wasn't a total pushover, though, Tony proudly corrected himself, grinning now at Tim's expression.

When Tim McGee had _that_ look on his face, no-one, not even Gibbs, could make him change it. Trying to persuade him to change his mind would be like asking Gibbs to survive an hour without coffee.

So, still grinning at his friend, but with genuine pride now, Tony finally nodded and patted Tim's shoulder – slipping easily into the role that suited him so well, and which he silently loved this kid for giving him.

"Want me to go with you?"

He may just have smiled and shrugged in reply, but there was no hiding the relief on Tim McGee's face. Beyond these gestures of apparent indifference, Tony could almost hear the grateful '_I thought you_'_d_ _never ask_'

When they arrived at the kennels where Jethro was being kept, Tim needed that support even more – his apprehension not helped, at all, by row upon row of jumping, barking German Shepherds.

Rarely, if ever, had Tony's protective hand on his shoulder been more needed, or more appreciated – the concerned glance that came with it met with a faint smile now as Tim took a deep, steadying breath.

"No, Tony, I can do this. I - I mean, what am I gonna do when we find dogs at another crime scene? Pass out? Throw up over Gibbs? Run away, screaming like a-…?"

If he finished that sentence, Tim McGee knew he'd regret it for the rest of his frequently endangered life. So instead, he glared, as best he could, at his wickedly smirking friend, and menacingly growled – rolling his eyes as this show of defiance was met as only his movie and TV mad friend could meet it.

"Oh, so you're turning into _Belker_ now, McMutt?"

"_Grrrrrrr_…"

Still grinning, Tony then moved smartly aside before his friend could answer him the painful way – watching, in genuine and anxious pride, as Tim physically braced himself, and kept on walking.

By the time they reached Jethro's block, Tony's hand was back, in all seriousness, on Tim's shoulder. Jethro's handler had joined them too now, studying Tim with the same mix of admiration and concern.

"Agent McGee? I'm Lieutenant Day, I've been assigned to Jethro until he's… well, until they come for him-"

Tim just nodded, in truth only half listening to the handler's words as they came to Jethro's pen – all doubts that he might have silently had melting away now, as he studied the dog in front of him.

In so many ways, Tim realized that Jethro was as much an innocent, traumatized victim as he'd been. High on the drugs he'd been trained to find, he'd turned on the handler he must have loved, and killed him.

He was going to die because of it, and – yes, even in his different, canine world, Jethro knew it.

Ears down, lying in silent lethargy beside his untouched food bowl, he was a completely different dog – the degree of that difference causing Tim's head to rise again now, by what Lieutenant Day was saying.

"…yeah, it's a real shame. Before Perelli messed him up, he was one of the best, he'd do anything for you. Yeah, he's one hell of a dog, Agent McGee. If you can bond with him, he'll protect you for life."

If proverbial light bulbs had been real, then a crown of them would have lit up over Tim McGee's head – the broad grin which now spread across his face causing one of equal size to copy itself over Tony's.

Any time you saw a grin like that – yes, you just knew that the work of true genius was behind it.

Lieutenant Day could only stand and watch, in hopeful puzzlement, as Tim drew out his cellphone. Even Jethro's ears pricked up, with new interest, as the plan to save him swung into action.

"Mom? Yeah, hi… um, you know that burglary you had, when - yeah, when dad lost his golf clubs? Well, if you still want a guard dog, and if you can get to me this weekend, I _think_ I've found one-"


	15. Chapter 15 McGee's Mutt

Shot To Hell by ceilidh

A/N:- Well, my lovely readers and reviewers, this is the final chapter for my latest story. Again, I hope you've enjoyed it, and thanks to everyone who took the time and trouble to review it for me.

I love writing these 'missing scenes' stories – as you may have noticed! I'm currently working on one for Twisted Sister, another of my all time favourite episodes. Mind you, there are so many of these great episodes to choose from, it's hard to decide which to write for!

For now, though, I'll leave you with our sweet Timothy, bonding with his new four legged friend. Enjoy, and I hope to see you all again soon!

Chapter Fifteen – McGee's Mutt

If he hadn't been _officially_ claimed already, Tim McGee might have enjoyed what had just happened.

Aside from its protection, walking into your new condo with a massive dog beside you had some real, and unexpected, advantages – a chorus of '_oohs_…' '_aahs_…' and '_aaw, what a cutie_…!' causing him to smile and shake his head.

He'd have to tell Tony that eligible bachelor, plus money, plus _dog_ equalled a _lot_ of female interest.

Then again, Tim then dryly reflected, having a furry babe magnet had its downsides too. There he was, standing at the door of his apartment, struggling with half a pet store in his arms, and –

– all chance of help vanished as his three neighbours descended on Jethro in a gushing, cooing frenzy.

And Jethro's response? The same ferocious beast who, just two weeks earlier, had tried to rip his arm off? Oh, he was on his back already, his whole body wagging furiously, not just his tail, from a three-way tummy rub.

Rolling his eyes, Tim then cast them down, in a baleful glare towards his _supposedly_ fearless protector.

'_When we __finally__ get inside_, _McMutt_, _you and me are gonna have a little chat-_'

That thought was barely half way through before Tim's sense of self-preservation tagged on another.

'…_once you_'_re_ _safely fed_…'

Through some canine sixth sense, Jethro's head suddenly swivelled towards him in hopeful interest. Tummy-rub forgotten, he bounded upright, straight onto Tim's feet, his loyalties magically switched by the lure of finest kibble.

Rolling his eyes, Tim grinned a rueful '_what can you do_?' apology to Jethro's latest conquests – silently adding three more willing doggy-walkers to an ever growing, and always useful list.

Still smiling, he then gingerly steered Jethro, and all the junk that came with him, into his apartment – Jethro's panting bark of anticipation met with a plaintive groan as he staggered into the kitchen.

"Hey, gimme a break, okay? I've only got two arms here. And since all this stuff's yours, you _could_ at least have carried some of it-"

Now there was a thought, and not just for Christmas either – a great big dog, with a great big sled.

'_Yeah_, _McGenius -_ _like you couldn_'_t_ _have had that bright idea __before__ we hit the pet-store_?'

Dryly thinking that doggy-hood wasn't as easy as he'd first expected, Tim then sighed and shook his head – his next words as much for Jethro's benefit as they were for himself as he reached for Jethro's bowl.

"Yeah, just go easy on me here, okay? I'm new to all this-"

Met with another panting grin, Tim felt himself smile too, as Jethro's head tilted quizzically sideways. There was such intelligence in this dog's eyes, such an astonishingly deep intelligence, that – yes, he could understand now, maybe for the first time, why Abby had defended him so fiercely.

So for all its many demands, especially on his bank balance, Tim really didn't even have any regrets on this first experience of doggy-hood – not even when Jethro followed him into the living room, and bounded happily onto the couch.

Stretching out, as best he could, on what little space was left, Tim then sighed and closed his eyes – rubbing Jethro's ears while drowsily reflecting on how even the best laid plans could go astray.

Of course, his parents had been delighted by his suggestion to adopt Jethro, especially after that burglary. But when they'd reached his pen, and his mother had seen just how strong and powerful he was – no, with real regret, she'd pointed out that she just couldn't cope with such a constantly demanding dog.

Being the dutiful son he was, he'd smiled back – assuring her it wasn't a problem when, in truth, it was. Without a new owner, Jethro was headed for the big kennel in the sky. And that would have broken not just Abby's heart, but his now, too.

The plan he'd silently counted on had fallen through, forcing Tim to find an instant alternative. Despite his greater commitments for work, and his complete absence during the day, he'd keep Jethro instead – balancing, as best he could, the demands of his job against those of keeping him fed and exercised.

To his grateful surprise, it had been Jethro's namesake who'd come up with the obvious solution. There would be no problem, Gibbs had dryly pointed out, in having such a highly trained dog in the bullpen - his response to four gaping faces instantly quashing any notion that he was going soft on them.

"_What_? _All this supposed genius around here, and __none__ of you thought of it yourselves_?

So, stationed faithfully under Tim's desk, 'team Gibbs' now had a new, if rather unexpected addition. And Tim had to admit, there was a certain sense of security in having Jethro curled snugly by his feet. It certainly explained why Tony, if maybe not Gibbs, was suddenly being so much nicer to him.

Abby, of course, was ecstatic - that senseless rift between them now truly forgiven and forgotten. When he was called out to a crime scene, or sent onto an assignment, Tim knew that Jethro would trot down to Abby's lab, and be totally and thoroughly spoiled.

When he was home, too, this massive rug on legs went way beyond keeping him safe. Sprawled on top of him - he hadn't dared argue - Jethro kept him as snugly warm and cosy as any quilt – one that now startled him out of his thoughts with a furry-faced, kibble-scented lick across his face.

Halfway through an indignant protest, Tim then stared down at the massive paw draped over his chest – its unmistakeable message to him met with a delighted smile, and an even happier question.

"Hey, are – are you _guarding_ me?"

Answered with another slurp of slobbery wetness, but not minding in the slightest, Tim then grinned – wrapping Jethro into a playful hug while making his new protector a soft but heartfelt promise.

"Yeah, you know what, McMutt? Me and you? Yeah, I think we're gonna be okay."


End file.
